The Mystery in the basement
by apprenticewhosaysni
Summary: Sherlock kidnaps a girl off the streets and investigates the murder that he is convinced that she committed. But what truly happened that night?
1. Chapter 1

She looked back, and he was still there; the tall man with the blue scarf. Her pace quickened as her anxiety grew and her heart rate quickened. This man could not know; no one could know. One glance back, and she knew she was wrong.

The man kept moving closer and closer as though he wanted her to be aware of his presence. The man was right behind her now, and she looked down in a way to avoid seeking his attention. He bumped her shoulder and walked right past her without giving a single glance back. Letting out a sigh of relief, she slowed her pace, and took some deep soothing breaths in a way to calm herself.

No one knew. Not the scarfed man who was nowhere in sight, and not anyone else. The deed was done, and she was safe as long as nobody found out. A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

As she passed a dark alley, somebody grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her off of the main road, and into the shadows. A persons other hand covered her mouth and nose with a rag that smelled of chemicals. She tried not to breathe it in, but there was no avoiding it. In her panic, she was hyperventilating, and she barely let out a muffled scream before she began to feel light headed, and the black spots slowly began taking over her vision. Her eyes fluttered closed, and the world outside became silent.


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes slowly opened to see a small man looking down at her. He looked vaguely familiar, but she could not place where she recognized him from. This man with dark, curly hair was staring at her intently, as if trying to solve a mystery. She looked away from his death glare and noticed something interesting next to the door. The blue scarf. Everything clicked in her head, and she sat up suddenly and ran towards the door, which turned out to be locked. A single, eerily amused laugh reached her ears, and she turned around to see him smirking in her direction.

"You don't really believe I'm so much of an idiot that I would leave the door unlocked?" He said in a surprising, baritone voice that seemed to reverberate around the room. He seemed to notice me eying the window, and this seemed to amuse him even more. "And don't even try the window. Honestly, I'm not stupid!"

She rushed towards the window anyways, but before she made it halfway across the room, her wrist was caught in an iron grip before she made it halfway across the room. She gasped in pain and turned towards the man with fire in her eyes, trying not to show her fear. She attempted to yank her wrist away from him, but only succeeded in creating more pain for herself.

"You know, Ms. Winters, I do not believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective for the London police department." As soon as the words left his mouth, her eyes widened, and she began to feel faint. "And you are Miss Caitlin Winters, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor Winters, and widow of the late Andrew Fairgrounds, are you not?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at her, and daring her to do something rash.

She frowned as she realized how he was right about all of the stuff he said, and couldn't help but gasp. Her legs seemed to collapse beneath her, and she began to feel faint. Just as she felt the air begin to rush by her head, she was caught mid-fall by Sherlock. She looked up at him in surprise just as the lock turned behind them at the door, and a man stepped into the room.

"Oh, Sherlock, I wasn't expecting you to be home just yet. Or with a girlfriend for that matter." he looked towards me. "Hello there!"

"Close the door, John!" Sherlock half shouted as I leaped out of his arms and ran for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

John quickly closes the door as Caitlin was mere inches away from her freedom. She slams into the door, hitting her head hard and making the world spin. As she begins to fall, Sherlock catches her and sits her down on the couch.

"John, I have told you many times before that I am married to my work, and therefore have no time for...girlfriends..." Sherlock sighs as he turns to John. "I'm investigating a murder, and if ou wouldn't mind, I need some help to see if she has a concussion or not from that damned door."

John smirks at this. "Wow, Sherlock Holmes needs help from a lowly doctor? That's a first!" He laughs to himself as Sherlock sighs again, displeased with Johns remark.

"John, I swear, if you don't help me-"

"Yeah, yeah. We're looking for signs of a concussion, right? Well, I doubt she has one from how hard she hit the door, but may as well check." He lifts Caitlin's head as he grabs a small flashlight from his pocket. "Look at my finger," he says, holding up a single finger and inspecting her eyes. When he is done, he gives a nod of approval and looks back over his shoulder to Sherlock. "No signs of a concussion, but you should still go easy on her."

Sherlock rolls his eyes at John, then looks to Caitlin. "I guess now we can begin the interrogation," he says, eying her like some sort of parasite. He pulls up a chair opposite of the couch and debates how to begin. "Where were you on May 15 from 9pm to 4am?" he questions, his eyes searching her face, smirking with the knowledge of a thousand men.

"I was at home, messaging my...friend...about her plans for the weekend," she says, slightly quivering, and hoping nobody notices. Especially not him. The one with the stormy gray eyes, ad the ever-knowing smile.

"Is that really what you did, Ms. Winters? Because evidence places you at the scene of a crime committed that night. Do you have any proof that you were in your basement messaging that friend of yours?" he asks, his eyes alight with a fiery passion. _He loves this, _she thinks, _He loves to watch the way they squirm under his gaze. The way their eyes say everything their lips don't._

"If you allow me to log onto the website I was on, I can show you the messages from that night," she blushes. "Although they are quite personal, and I would prefer that nobody saw them..."

John looks over at Caitlin, and as he realizes what she means, he begins to glare at Sherlock. "Sherlock, we can't go through those!" He exclaims, shock riddled into his voice and on his face.

"Oh, but we can, John, and we must," he replies, his eyes showing that he won't be fazed by anything in those messages. _I just hope he doesn't look through any of the others, or I am done for!_


End file.
